


Poison Darts

by sahiya



Series: Icarus [3]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-10
Updated: 2009-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-04 07:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting poisoned was so much easier when it just killed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poison Darts

"Jack."

 

Jack burrowed deeper into his cocoon of blankets. Only one person said his name like that, drawing out the single vowel, then popping the last, sharp 'k'. Only one person, and even more than half-asleep Jack knew exactly who it was. But he was warm and relaxed and, best of all, not throwing up, so he tried to ignore it as best he could.

 

He had the vague but singularly unpleasant recollection that there'd been a lot of throwing up in his not-so-distant past.

 

"Jack," the voice said again. "I need you to sit up and drink this. You're dehydrated."

 

Jack was starting to get that on his own, now that he was a bit more awake. Aside from tasting like something had crawled in and died, his mouth was completely dry, and his head was throbbing. His stomach muscles, when he dared try to shift the slightest bit, protested. Vehemently.

 

"Oh God," he whimpered.

 

"Hullo," the Doctor said gently. "Sorry about this, but you'll be in far worse shape if you don't drink something now. Think you can keep it down or am I going to end up binning another pair of trainers?"

 

Oh _hell_, he hadn't really - but he had. It was all starting to come back in bits and pieces: the planet they'd visited, the one that was supposed to be "perfectly pleasant," according to the Doctor, but as usual, a power hungry dictator had another story to tell. He hadn't had a lot of love lost for off-worlders and his guards had had even less. Jack had argued with one who'd tried to arrest the Doctor. When the guy had raised his gun, Jack hadn't even thought twice before stepping between it and the Doctor.

 

He hadn't ended up with the bullet in his head that he'd expected. Instead, it'd been a poison dart in the side of his neck. Everything after that was mercifully blurry, but he knew he'd been sick. Very, very sick. On the Doctor's shoes as he'd supported Jack as they fled back to the TARDIS, on the floor of the control room, and then finally in the bathroom, with the Doctor holding his head over the toilet. Finding an antidote would take longer than just letting it metabolize out of Jack's system, the Doctor had said after a quick analysis of his blood, and a shot of anti-nausea meds had done zilch. He'd kept heaving long after there was nothing left to bring up.

 

No wonder he felt like a wet tea towel someone had wrung out.

 

Jack pulled the blanket over his head, swallowing another whimper. Holy hell, stomach muscles were connected to everything, weren't they? He felt the Doctor's concern in the way he shifted to lean over him. "Jack?"

 

Jack gave a small, pathetic groan. "Getting poisoned is so much easier when it just kills me," he mumbled from beneath the blanket.

 

The Doctor sighed. "I know. But please, I promise that if you sit up and drink this tea, you'll feel much better." He tugged the blanket away from Jack's face; Jack let it go with a sigh. "You're not in danger anymore, but you are -"

 

"Dehydrated, I know." Wincing, Jack pushed himself up. "God, that was awful. Thought I was actually going to turn inside out at one point." He still felt sick. He eyed the tea with suspicion, but the Doctor was giving him those trademark puppy eyes and Jack had never had any defense against those. He accepted the mug of weak tea from the Doctor with faintly trembling hands and sipped, cautiously.

 

"All right?" the Doctor asked.

 

"Think so. We'll see." He sipped again. Lemon and ginger, unsweetened. He'd probably be all right. "Where are we anyway? Not the same planet, I hope."

 

It was a subtle change in the Doctor's eyes, but he suddenly looked just as miserable as Jack felt. "No. I took us into the Vortex. It's been about three hours." His eyes were shadowed and tired, his face pale - but then, he hadn't looked all that great when he'd shown up in Cardiff. _Just one trip_, he'd said. Something in the slump of his shoulders had made Jack think he expected Jack to say no, even though that was the deal they'd made after the mess on Orion's Twelve - that Jack would live in Cardiff most of the time, but be there for the asking when the Doctor needed him. And vice versa.

 

Whatever had been wrong when the Doctor had shown up, Jack somehow didn't think this trip had helped very much.

 

"You all right? They didn't get you, too?" Jack rubbed his neck by way of clarification.

 

The Doctor shook his head. "I'm fine."

 

"Good." Jack paused to set the tea on the nightstand - he didn't trust himself to hold it one-handed yet - and pulled up one corner of the blankets in invitation. "C'mere. You look like you could use a lie down yourself."

 

He expected a bit of an argument - just enough for the Doctor to salvage his pride - but he figured he'd give in and then Jack could be where he wanted: curled up in the Doctor's arms with his tea, which showed every sign of staying where he put it. What he didn't expect was for the Doctor to wrap his arms around himself and step back. He shook his head. "No."

 

Jack blinked. "Doc . . ."

 

"Jack, please. It'll only make it harder."

 

"Make what harder?" The Doctor shook his head again, extra emphatically. His jaw was set. Jack got a sinking feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the poison. "Doctor. Why do I get the feeling you're about to do something really stupid?"

 

The Doctor's head came up suddenly. "Nothing you didn't ask for," he replied, his mouth a thin, grim line. "Do you need anything else?"

 

"No, but -"

 

"Right, then." The Doctor turned and strode out, his back rigid.

 

What the hell? Jack stared at the empty doorway. _Nothing you didn't ask for_. What the fuck did that mean? What had he asked for? Nothing since he'd woken up in this bed, so the Doctor must mean something he'd asked for while he was sick. This was unfortunate, because the last three hours were damn foggy. He'd been too ill and too out of it to ask for much, and anyway, he hadn't needed to. The Doctor had done it all and then some: damp compresses on the back of his neck, gentle backrubs in between spasms, even reassuring nonsense murmured in his ear.

 

Which was why Jack hadn't a clue. And, he realized as he drained the last of his tea, he wasn't going to get it lying here.

 

Getting up was awful. His stomach muscles were very much against the entire venture, and the rest of him was shaky and chilled. He got himself standing, more or less steadily, then pulled the top blanket off the bed to wrap around his shoulders. He shuffled out, silently asking the TARDIS to make his route to the Doctor as short as possible, because in about two minutes he was going to to sit down whether he'd found him or not.

 

Fortunately, the Doctor was in the first place Jack looked: the control room. He wasn't tinkering, as Jack had half-expected - _tinkering_ being the Doctor's default setting whenever he was upset. Instead, he'd gotten himself embroiled in a heated argument with the TARDIS.

 

"Stop being so bloody stubborn, you -" The Doctor gave the console a sound whack with the mallet and let loose with a string of Gallifreyan the TARDIS was too polite to translate. _Obnoxious little shit_, Jack guessed from the tone.

 

"Doctor?" Jack said. The Doctor ignored him. Jack shuffle-stumbled over to the jumpseat and collapsed into it with a groan. "Doc, where are you taking us?"

 

"Cardiff," the Doctor said without looking up.

 

Jack had expected as much. He swallowed a reflexive sigh in favor of protesting, "But I don't want to go to Cardiff."

 

"Martha or Ianto will be much better at taking care of you than I am," the Doctor replied, flipping a switch. Whatever he saw on the monitors made him scowl and smack the console again, this time with his open hand.

 

"You were doing just fine, Doc. And I already feel better. Give me a good night's sleep - which, by the way, you could join me for - and I'll be good as new."

 

The Doctor didn't answer. Jack watched him, desperation starting to bloom. This was it? All these years and he finally had what he wanted and the Doctor was going to take it all away because of something Jack had asked for when he'd been too sick to even remember asking for it. What could he possibly have said?

 

Only one way to find out. Jack didn't have that much hope the Doctor would answer him, not in this mood, but it was the only thing left to try. "Doctor," he said, as calmly as possible, and not as though the most important relationship in his very long life hung in the balance, "what did I say to you? I was really, really sick and I honestly don't remember."

 

The Doctor's head jerked up. "You don't need to remind me how sick you were. I was there."

 

"I know. Just like," Jack added pointedly, "I was there for you. That's what friends do, in case you've missed the memo. But what did I say to make you think I wanted to go back to Cardiff? Because I don't."

 

The Doctor looked down at the console and flicked a number of levers, apparently at random. "I'm never doing this again," he muttered, so quietly Jack had to strain to hear him. "Never, ever, ever."

 

Jack blinked. It took him a few seconds to realize - the Doctor was quoting. Jack, it would seem. But he hadn't said that. He'd never have said that - he'd know how the Doctor would take it and he'd never -

 

Oh. Oh _crap_, he _had_ said that. During the worst of it, with no end in sight, his knees aching from the cold tile of the bathroom floor, and tears leaking down his face as he slumped over to rest his head on his arm because he just couldn't hold it up any longer. "'M never doing this again," he'd moaned, "never, ever, ever." He couldn't remember now if the Doctor's hand on his back had faltered or if he'd given any sign at all how deeply that had cut him - not that Jack would've noticed if he had. Vomiting was a deeply solipsistic activity.

 

"I don't blame you," the Doctor said now, after a lengthy silence. He still wouldn't look at Jack, though at least he wasn't flipping random switches anymore. "It always amazes me that more of you don't say the same. You'd all be better off, and you, Jack, you especially -" He shook his head. "It's better this way."

 

Jack heaved a sigh. "Yup. I was right. Really stupid." He tilted his head back against the jumpseat. "Doc. I didn't mean it. I don't want to leave. I'm really tired and still sorta sick and all I want is to go to bed. With you, preferably. So stop being an idiot and help me back to my room, all right?"

 

The Doctor shook his head, stepping back from the console and shoving his fists in his pockets. His mouth twisted unhappily. "It was a disaster. It's always a disaster," he said, a despairing, desperate note in his voice. "That planet was supposed to have beaches and jungles and terrific cliff-gliding, not _poison darts_. I follow a mauve signal and I more or less know it'll be a run-for-your-life situation, but that wasn't what I wanted for us this time and no matter what I do, it just seems . . ." He trailed off, shaking his his head and rubbing the back of his neck. "You were right. You were . . ." He sighed. "You were right."

 

Jack covered his eyes with his hand. His headache hadn't abated one bit. "I was _sick_. You know how you should never make decisions while drunk or high or having sex? I think we should add vomiting your guts out to that list."

 

"Jack -"

 

"And hey, you want to know the really insane thing is here? I mean, completely barking." Jack paused. The Doctor looked at him, head tilted back, chin jutting out stubbornly. "If I had died, you would actually feel less guilty. And don't ask me how that works." He shoved himself upright, gritting his teeth against the pain. "I can't do this, Doctor. I can't talk you down every time something happens to me and you think it's your fault. I said something I didn't mean because I was in pain, and that would be a really stupid reason for you to kick me out. But if it's going to be like this _every single time_, then maybe you should take me back. Because I can't do it."

 

He was grimly pleased he managed not to stagger on the way back to his room. He collapsed, shivering, onto the mattress, then pulled the blankets over himself. "Next stop: Cardiff," he muttered, huddling in a tight, miserable ball. Bloody hell.

 

Warm and horizontal at last, Jack was too worn out even to lie awake and brood. He dozed, drifting in and out, hovering on the edge of consciousness. He felt something wash over him, like warm water lapping at his feet on a beach or someone he loved stroking his hair. The TARDIS, he realized distantly, and kept his eyes shut, unwilling to risk losing the tenuous psychic contact by waking up. It felt so good, as though he were cupped in the palm of someone's hand, and he was grateful for it. The Doctor was being a jackass, but he still had the TARDIS. For now, at least.

 

The sound of a throat clearing finally woke him. He groggily raised his head to see the Doctor hovering in the doorway, wearing his specs and holding out a mug of tea.

 

"You should drink more. One cup really isn't enough for the amount of fluid you lost."

 

Jack rolled onto his side, pillowing his head on the crook of his arm. He was a bit grumpy at being forced out of his comfortable, soothing doze. Reality sucked in comparison. "I'm sure Martha and Ianto will be happy to provide all the tea I could possibly want."

 

"Yee-aah," the Doctor said, shuffling into the room. "About that . . . the TARDIS seems to think it's a bad idea."

 

"Well, I've always thought she was the sensible one in your relationship."

 

The Doctor shrugged. Jack gave in and beckoned him closer. He came as though pulled on a string, set the mug of tea on the nightstand next to the old one, then helped Jack sit up. He lingered a little, fluffing Jack's pillows and then very lightly stroking the back of his hand over Jack's cheek. Jack took it as a good sign; looking back, the Doctor had avoided touching him at all after he'd woken up earlier.

 

The Doctor put the mug of tea into Jack's hand and seated himself on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry," he said, ruffling his hair and avoiding Jack's eyes.

 

"Good," Jack replied, eyeing him over the rim of his mug. "Do you know what for?"

 

"Um." More hair ruffling. "Making your decision for you?"

 

Jack rolled his eyes. "Normally you'd be right. But not today."

 

"Ah. Er. Then what, exactly, would it be?"

 

"Today?" Jack raised an unsympathetic eyebrow. "Today you were a self-centered, inconsiderate prick. And believe me, Doc, I am an expert in this area. Takes one to know one and all that."

 

The Doctor's mouth fell open. "But how was I - you were the one who said - I was doing it for you!"

 

"That's what you told yourself. But it's not really true." The Doctor stared at him, visibly flabbergasted. Jack took ruthless advantage of his stunned silence. "You see, Doc, I know all about your Lonely God complex, but there are a lot of things even you can't control - like, for instance, hostile aliens with poison darts. The price I pay for traveling with you and having the time of my life is that I'll probably get hurt or killed at least once. I _know_ that. So do you. So sending me home for that is just stupid."

 

The Doctor squirmed. "I thought we'd already decided you weren't going home."

 

"No. You decided - or the TARDIS did - that you wouldn't send me home. I haven't decided yet whether I want to go anyway."

 

The Doctor's eyes widened. "But why -"

 

"Because I needed you today and you weren't there."

 

_Instant_ puppy dog eyes. Wounded ones, even. Jack gritted his teeth mentally. "But you said I was doing fine!"

 

"You were. Right up until you decided to kick me out. Then it was all, 'Here's a cup of tea - oh, by the way, I'm dumping your sorry ass on Ianto and Martha as soon as the TARDIS will let me.'" Jack crossed his arms over his chest. "At which point I had to haul my half-dead carcass out of this bed and talk you down. _Not_ what I wanted to be doing, thank you." He sighed and let his head fall back to rest against the headboard. "I'm tired, Doctor. I've had a really bad day. And there'll be more bad days - which is fine, because the good ones outnumber them by a lot. But I can't do this every time."

 

The Doctor shook his head, then nodded, then shook his head again. Jack felt sorry for him, clueless bastard that he was. He reached out and grasped the Doctor's hand, tugging on it. The Doctor crawled up beside him, trainers and all, and wrapped himself around Jack.

 

Jack rested his head on the Doctor's shoulder and breathed out slowly. "See? This was what I wanted all along."

 

"Me too," the Doctor whispered.

 

Jack sighed. "Then why all the rest?"

 

The Doctor was silent for two beats of Jack's heart, and four of his own, which echoed beneath Jack's ear. "Because everyone leaves. Even the ones who aren't supposed to."

 

_And it's easier if I leave first_. Jack sighed again, very quietly. "Doc, I'm the one you can't lose. I've traded in my wax wings, remember?" He turned, pressing his lips to the Doctor's shoulder. "So stop trying to find new ways to lose me. One of these days you might actually succeed, and neither of us wants that."

 

"No," the Doctor said, almost inaudibly. He twisted round suddenly, nimble as a cat in Jack's arms, so they were face to face. Nose to nose, in fact, and considering the state of Jack's breath, he thought that showed true devotion. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "So sorry, Jack, I just -"

 

"I know," Jack said, gently cutting him off. Stretching - and wincing, because _ow_, stomach muscles - Jack managed to set his tea on the nightstand so he could hold the Doctor properly. He threaded his fingers through the Doctor's unruly hair; the Doctor made a wordless noise and buried his face in Jack's neck. "I also know you can't help it sometimes. But damn, Doc, I'd really like you to try. Or at least improve your timing. Have the meltdown if you need to, but after I'm back on my feet. All right?"

 

The Doctor nodded. Jack decided that was as good as he'd get - better than he'd hoped for, truthfully. "How're you feeling?" the Doctor asked, with uncharacteristic hesitation. His hand stroked back and forth across Jack's stomach gently.

 

Jack leaned into him. "Still pretty rough," he admitted, "but better. I think I need eight solid hours." And that was saying something. Jack usually didn't bother sleeping until his body forced the issue, but eight hours of lying flat and unmoving sounded better than sex just then. Especially if the Doctor was with him.

 

"Should finish your tea, or you'll feel even worse once you wake up. Actually," the Doctor sat up abruptly, dislodging Jack, "I think I have something in the medlab that'll help - if not I can probably whip something up." He slid off the bed, muttering about electrolytes and mineral balances, while Jack, nestled amongst the rumbled blankets, watched in bemusement.

 

The Doctor reached the doorway and paused, mid-monologue, and looked back. "Er. Jack?"

 

Jack swallowed the sip of tea he'd just taken. "Yeah?"

 

"Er. Um. You're not leaving, are you? I mean, I was sort of assuming not, but you never actually said - not that it matters, of course I'll do this for you if you are, but if -"

 

"Doc." The Doctor fell into immediate, penitent silence. Jack briefly contemplated milking this for all it was worth, then decided that would be much too cruel. "Yeah. I'm staying."

 

"Oh," the Doctor said. He graced Jack with a weak smile. "I'm glad." He pushed himself off the doorjamb and vanished.

 

Jack smiled to himself and wrapped his fingers solidly around his cooling mug of tea. "Me too," he whispered.

 

_Fin._


End file.
